


within the silver mirror (A breath won from the air Remix)

by MiraMira



Category: Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: Angst, Battle, Don't Have to Know Canon, F/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Remix, Sexual Content, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:46:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1560359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraMira/pseuds/MiraMira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Wayne is a hapless plaything of fate.  Diana of Themyscira is the gods' favored child.  This cannot end well.  And yet...</p>
            </blockquote>





	within the silver mirror (A breath won from the air Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NancyBrown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NancyBrown/gifts).
  * Inspired by [within the silver mirror](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/48083) by Nancy Brown. 



> I suspect this is not the story - or the fandom - you expected to see remixed, Nancy Brown. And for what it's worth, a part of me very much wanted to use your Elizabethan Justice League as an excuse to have the Queen's husband warn Shayera that hyperspace bypasses would be a very bad idea. But alas, my Tenth Doctor voice is pants, so you get this instead. Thank you for the inspiration, and I hope you feel it does your work justice. (And thank you also for introducing me to Rainer Maria Rilke, whose poetry influenced my choice of title as well.)

For his seventh birthday, Bruce Wayne's mother gives him a book of Greek and Roman mythology.

"It was one of my favorites when I was a child," she tells him as he thumbs the pages, taking in lushly illustrated scenes of battle and romance and the gods' abodes, from Mount Olympus to the pit of Tartarus. "I think you'll like it, too."

He doesn't, exactly. But he finishes in less than a week, because the stories are like nothing he has ever read before. The concept of divine vengeance is not new to him, but these gods are not the inscrutable Father from his surreptitious Sunday Bible reading whenever the sermon drags. They are all too human, and while he recognizes the morals in some of the tales, others seem arbitrary in the distinction they draw between sin and righteousness. Why are some heroes forgiven their rages and lusts, while others whose greatest crime is loving something too much are brought down without hope of appeal or redemption?

"Hubris," his mother says, when he shares his observations with her. "The sin of pride, thinking a mortal could be as great as the gods. Or some other fatal flaw that no one sees – at least, not as a flaw. That's where the idea of tragedy comes from, did you know that? It isn't the villain that brings the hero down. His own strengths and virtues do." 

She sees his pensive expression and apparently mistakes it for something else, because her face falls. The next thing he knows, he is gathered in her arms, inhaling the powder-and-lilac scent of her perfume. "Oh, Bruce. Few things in this world end in real tragedy, because nothing ever really ends. Remember that."

He does, though not for the reason she intends. For years, he wonders whether the flaw that led his parents to their end in that fatal alley was hubris or something else unseen. Then he becomes the Bat, and slowly, he comes to realize the curse was not meant for them. 

But of course, by then, it is too late.

~

If anyone should be able to read the fate of those who link their fortunes and happiness with his, and walk away out of self-preservation, it is Diana of Themyscira. Raven-haired Diana, for whom the gods are no mere myth, but real and revered figures she calls upon to grant her strength and courage and wisdom.

More astoundingly, they listen. Perhaps that is why she scoffs at his protestations that "a rich kid with issues," including a fear that even the few trusted members of his inner circle could be turned against – or turn on – him at any moment, is an unwise focus for her affections. The ageis over her is so powerful, she believes it will protect him, too.

And little by little, while he knows better than to believe, he finds her faith has inspired something far more dangerous in him: hope.

~

This isn't avoidance, Bruce tells himself, as he scans the glittering throngs of socialites turned out at Gotham's finest hotel for the Policeman's Ball, and raises the glass of champagne he has no intention of consuming to his lips. It's been too long since he last made a civilian appearance anywhere. Too long on the Watchtower, away from his city. He needs this reminder why he first put on the cowl: not because he wanted to be a hero, but because no one else would. It has nothing to do with this being Diana's shift.

As if responding to a cue, she emerges from the crowd like Aphrodite from the waves, resplendent in a simple, white, Grecian-draped gown. He nearly drops the champagne flute.

"May I have this dance?" she asks, and what can Bruce Wayne, the man who Gotham Monthly has declared off-limits for its annual Most Eligible Bachelor competition on the grounds that no one else will ever claim the title as long as he lives, do but rise with a rakish grin and escort her on to the ballroom floor?

"Thought you were on duty," he mutters as they settle into a rhythm, trying to ignore that his lips are brushing her ear.

"Switched with John," she replies, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Don't tell me you're not happy to see me."

"Delighted." He spares a quick glance at the press table, hoping they will interrupt. But they all seem clustered around a certain bespectacled colleague from the Daily Planet, who, without ever interrupting his account of the time he tried to land an interview with the leader of the Thanagarian invasion, directs a barely perceptible wink at Bruce.

_Dammit, Kent_ , he mouths, as Diana maneuvers him off the edge of the dance floor and into the shadows.

He should be in his element. Instead, he shivers as her grip about his waist grows firmer, while her other hand reaches up to brush the nape of his neck.

"Bruce," she whispers. "I'm not asking you to become Wonder Man. In the morning, if you want us to go about our business like nothing ever happened, then it never happened. Just...for one night, wouldn't it be nice to set aside the secrets and the contingencies and just... _be_?"

_Impossible_ , he plans to retort. But her lips fasten on his before he can speak, and every conscious thought flies from his mind.

"It would," he breathes when they finally disengage.

She kisses him again, then flashes a triumphant smile as she takes him by the hand and leads him upstairs.

~

Bruce is no stranger to the company of beautiful women. Not so many as his reputation would suggest, but more than his fair share. Yet with Diana laid bare before him, he questions whether he knew beauty's true definition before this moment. He has never beheld a woman with skin of such unblemished alabaster, or curves so perfectly proportionate, save perhaps in a painting by one of the Old Masters.

Painting or sculpture, he thinks, before remembering the accuracy of the latter description. And with that reminder of Diana's background comes a second realization that causes him to leave off his exploration of her inner thigh and gaze up in sudden concern. "Is this...have you...?"

She laughs. "Oh, Bruce. You may be my first _man_ , but you're not my first."

At this revelation, he narrowly avoids reverting to an undisciplined teenager himself. "Well, then," he murmurs, returning to the task at hand with a gesture that causes her to gasp and arch her back, "I'll have to work extra hard to make sure I'm memorable."

~

He is in the midst of trailing kisses down Diana's neck when she emits a frustrated groan he cannot imagine has anything to do with an activity that went over so well the last three times. A second later, he understands the disconnect, and is forced to stifle the same impulse.

"Sorry to interrupt," he hears J'onn say. If the Watchtower's tireless coordinator is in any way aware of the precise interruption, telepathically or otherwise, he gives no sign. "Sensors just picked up residual traces of a boom tube in downtown Gotham, followed by visuals of Kalibak and an unknown Fury. He appears to be headed in the direction of the wharf."

"That should be no problem," says Diana. "Superman's…"

"I know. I contacted him first. Unfortunately, from what little I gathered, Kalibak's associate is keeping too close an eye on the gala for him to act without avoiding detection. Green Lantern is en route, and I am attempting to raise Black Canary, but…"

"We're on our way," Bruce – or rather, Batman – interrupts, with more of a growl than he intends. J'onn, once again exercising enviable discretion, brings the conversation to an abrupt close.

Diana is already rummaging through her finery for a certain undergarment. "You retrieve Clark; I'll take care of Kalibak?"

"Clark can rescue himself," he says, pulling on his tights. "Let's put a stop to whatever Kalibak has in mind."

The plan of attack is perfectly logical. If there is any personal motivation driving him, it is the desire to prove he can stand against the titans of Apokalips even without superpowers. He is certainly not making excuses to prolong their time together. 

Still, when at one point he notices that she is keeping pace with him, he assumes that either she is doing so by choice, or residual euphoria has granted him the temporary ability to fly. 

Perhaps she tells herself the same.

~

By the time Diana's fourth punch fails to connect with Kalibak's jaw, it has grown clear something is wrong. As much as Batman wants to avoid the comparison, he cannot help remembering Barbara during her first training sessions: energy and enthusiasm to burn, but little technique or power.

Her mind is elsewhere, he rationalizes, deliberately disregarding her focused glower as she takes another swing. This was a mistake. They should have finished getting it out of her system. Once she does, she'll be fine.

Unless...

He does not even have time to finish denying the thought before Kalibak raises his weapon and fires.

One of Diana's bracelets cracks in two and goes clattering to the ground, as the woman herself comes to land at his feet.

A blur of green streaks overhead as John charges at Kalibak, but Bruce has eyes only for Diana, her splayed limbs and disheveled state a twisted mockery of the night's earlier ecstacies. But far more grievous than her physical injuries is her wounded, broken expression. He can see she has come to the same terrible conclusion.

"No," he whispers, kneeling to offer her what feeble support he can.

The hurt in her eyes abruptly vanishes, replaced with a rage he has never seen her bring to bear on any foe and hopes never to see again. " _No_ ," she declares, even as she struggles to raise her head. "Am I or am I not empowered with the virtues of _all_ the gods? Are Aphrodite's blessings less dear than Athena's? Hestia, where is your sympathy? Demeter, will you not rejoice in the act of creation? Great Hera, will you cast down a daughter for refusing to accept that a woman's pleasure and power must have limits?"

An image from his mother's mythology book flits through Bruce's memory like the ghosts of the underworld. "The goddess Diana loved a man once, didn't she?" he asks, unsure to whom he is directing the question.

The Diana before him nods once, wincing with the effort. "Orion. The hunter. And when he was taken from her, she had Zeus place his image in the sky, so that he could watch over the night for all eternity."

There are no stars visible this smoke-tinged night, but Bruce looks to the heavens nonetheless. "If that's the price," he says, "so be it."

He does not know what response he expects. He knows better than to expect any. Still, he continues staring upward in anticipation until Diana's voice draws his attention. 

"Batman." Then, more quietly: "Bruce. Look."

As he turns, he can feel her weight lifting off his lap, hear her breathing grow less ragged. By the time she fastens her bracelet back into place, its sides once again smooth and whole, her bruises have nearly faded away.

Wonder Woman straightens her back, brushes the dirt from her uniform, and grins at him. "So. Where were we?"

In lieu of the answer he wants to give, he stares across the battlefield. Kalibak looks winded, but far from worn down, and John's projections are beginning to thin around the edges.

She follows his gaze and sighs. "Fine. I'll finish here; you go see what's keeping Superman tied up. But the night hasn't ended yet, right?"

"Promise." He holds on to the undertone of regret in the question to keep himself from hesitating as he adds, "And if it does, there's always tomorrow."

Before she can recover from her astonished gape, he rushes off to follow her orders, still smirking.

Bruce Wayne may not believe his ultimate fate is a happy one. But for now – and for however long Diana grants him – he will not question the favor of the gods.


End file.
